Archive for the 'rock & roll vote' Category

Low Blows Cheap Thrills & Assorted Spoils of Victory

Any Republicans on the speedWay tonight?

If so:

It sucks to be YOU!!

$$$

I drove past an American flag flown at half-mast today. Strange. I watched CNN — even in my sleep — all week, but heard no news of a new National Tragedy.

Quite the contrary.

Made me wonder: Is the flag-waver a loyalist grief-struck for the GOP?

$$$

I visited my psychiatrist today. We chatted about the election for a few…

‘You know Mike E,’ He said, ‘I have been Depressed for the better part of 6 years! Incurably — and I am a Pro. But now…Am I cured? No. But now I feel Uplifted.’

‘Shit yeah,’ I agreed, ‘It was AWESOME dude!!”

With that my doctor turned me loose with my free monthly jar of mixed-salt amphetamines. Even upped my dose a wee bit!

It’s been great freekin week.

$$$

Two Words — to describe the feeling while I watched the election on TV:

Cheap Thrills!

$$$

Vermont reelected our Flatlander Pinhead Republican Governor, Jim Douglas, to a third term.

Know what? Right On! We need a governor like Douglas right now. To punch like a bag when we’re ornery.

Legislative Democrats & Progressives gained Big in Vermont on Tuesday and now enjoy a Veto-Proof state-house majority.

Which means our governor is now an utterly inconsequential Flatlander Pinhead Wannabee.

Jim Douglas said he wants Vermont to be the ‘Silicon Valley for Alternative Energy.’ Yet on his watch a potentially vibrant Windmill Industry was literally chased from the state by a handfull of hill-top homeowners who complained that turbines would ruin their ridgeline views.

I have a message for the people with Rigdeline Views: Your view is of the Green Mountains.

And the Green Mountains do not belong to you.

I propose: Legislative Action to formally welcome the Windmill Industry back to Vermont. The bill should authorize the state to seize acerage by eminent domain — as per US Supreme Court’s Kelo v. City of New London decision — from anyone who don’t like how it looks. Then sell the homes cheap to good Vermont-folk who do.

We should make laws like that from time to time. To insure for the children an Earth that’s habitable & free from tyranny.

And to remind ourselves, when vexed by the question — who has the Power? — of that one Tuesday in ‘06 when America proved unequivocally that the Power is We.

$$$

On a local note:

My buddy Ian ran for State Representative for Brattleboro’s district 2.

Dig:

Pillsbury faces Bigelow for Windham-3-2 seat

Tuesday, October 31
BRATTLEBORO — The incumbent in Windham-3-2, Daryl Pillsbury [Independent], is being challenged by Ian Bigelow, 23, running on the Wingnut ticket, and a self-professed “dishwashing politician.”

A class act all the way & we’re all proud for him. He pulled 15% of the vote — 205 out of 1300 cast — from the popular 3-term incumbent…..

…..Without lifting so much as a finger, campaign-wise, save for hanging around a few hours with a homemade placard sign on election day.

Who has the Power?

$$$

George W. Bush & his murderous cronies maybe. One wonders: Why in hell did he not can Rumsfeld a month ago? A week? My guess is had he fired Rumsfeld one hour before polls closed in Montana the 2000-vote Senate race gap would’ve closed in Republican favor.

Are they that dumb for real?

Or is it a Set Up — a Scapegoat Job — a way, when the Big Shitpuddle drops, to dodge the blame?

One must wonder if They want to lose.

$$$

Maybe that’s the Difference between ’em & good peeps like you & me.

We can’t win every time.

But we want to!

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Overwhelmed!

The last time Democrats won anything I was looking forward to catching the Grateful Dead in Denver. The year: 1994. Bill Clinton was elected to a second term — but I was too stoned to notice.

Oops — actually it was ’96. Still…this feels momentous.

It’s 3AM on the east coast of America. It’s been hours since Dems were projected victors of the US House. At this hour the Democratic candidates enjoy a 6,000 vote lead in both Virginia & Montana. If these leads hold then the Vice President will have one less job to do in Washington.

His services won’t be needed to break ties in the Senate. So he’ll have more time to go hunting.

Begs the question: Who’s gonna get Shot??

Last Minute Election Notes

It was the so-called Super Sunday on VT Public TV today. They had debates between gubernatorial and Vermont congressional delegation hopefuls — 4 debates total, all lined up in a row.

Big election on Tuesday, here in the United States. I have mixed feelings about it. Pending the outcome, life could suck rotten eggs. On the other hand it could suck a pig’s dick. And I must choose…because as a citizen in this democracy I am Accountable for what results. Unless I don’t vote.

Then I’ll be at Fault.

I swear sometimes I’m like ‘fuck Democracy!’ We have to do this every two years?? Jeez. Even though I always vote, I understand why 50% of Americans don’t.

Anyone I ever vote for (rare exception: Jim Jeffords in ’00) is bound to be some wet-bag Hosehead who loses. Like John Kerry — boy did I feel dumb rooting him on, only to watch him miserably lose an election a left-over cheese pizza slice could’ve run away with.

Anyone out there ever smoke crack? If you haven’t, don’t. Here’s why:

The shit don’t get you High. It does a little something real fast that vaguely tingles. Then you feel like such a pitiful asshole that you must have more.

And you get a a bigger rush handing over $20 for another rock than you’ll ever get from smoking the wretched thing.

That’s kind of how it feels to avidly participate in our so-called Democracy. You know it’ll suck afterwards but you do it anyway — and once your Hooked you anticipate it. Obsess for it.

‘So who do you think’s gonna win in ’08?’ A friend at the Bar asked me, while we watched Kerry concede on the TV in ’04.

‘I don’t think there’ll be an election in ’08.’ I answered hopelessly.

‘Me neither.’

‘I hope not — I’m done with this Honky Bull!’

I said that. But it’s not true. That’d be like a crack head on his way to their dealer saying ‘I hope he doesn’t have any more — I’m DONE with it!’

You can say it & mean it but it’s a lie and you know it. You want another hit of crack for the same reason I want there to be another presidential election. I think it’ll Help — even though I know better.

That’s why I don’t smoke Crack — unless someone gives it to me for Free. Same goes for Voting — which I’ll do tomorrow. But the day they make me pay $20 for the privilege you can can that shit.

Dig?

Moreover, the day someone pays me for the privilege — they can have that shit. It’s for sale.

‘So,’ Absinthe Eve asked while we watched the governor’s debate, ‘Who are you going to vote for?’

‘I don’t know.’ I said. None of the candidates impressed me specifically.

Absinthe Eve is from England. She’s lived in the States since she was 11 but has wisely kept her British citizenship & passport — so despite living here two-thirds of her life, she can’t vote.

‘Will you vote for who I want you to vote for?’ She asked.

‘No.’

‘I’ll give you a Morphine!’

Ah?

Hell yes — for her own good. My friend has never even voted in a US election. The poor girl has lived in this dumb country for 20 years! Isn’t it time she had the pleasure?

‘You want to trade me a morphine for my vote for Vermont Governor??’

‘Yep!’

‘Sold.’

Absinthe Eve handed me the pill, then pulled her hand back at the last second.

My jaw dropped. Why would she change her mind?

‘Governor and US Senator!’ She demanded.

‘No can do,’ I replied, ‘Open Container speedWay has endorsed R2D2 for that seat — I’m obligated to vote for him. It’d be Irresponsible of me not to.’

‘No Senate, no morphine.’ She insisted.

‘How ’bout Lieutenant governor?’ I proffered.

‘What the fuck is a Lieutenant Governor??’

‘Never mind,’ I said.

Stupid foriegners.

‘Alright,’ I relented, ‘I give you my US House vote, too.’

Sorry Martha Rainville.

Crush crush.

Toot toot.

Gonzo Fantasy

I was duped.

Click for music

Somewhere in the desert between Barstow & Vegas at the Edge of my adolescence — I was Plumb Lied To.

To wit:

Moments later, my attorney slipped into a drug coma and almost ran a red light on Main Street before I could gain control of the Shark and take the wheel myself. Feeling fine. Extremely sharp.

Total Control Now.

Ahh yes. This is what it is all about. Two Good Old Boys in a fire-apple red convertable on a Saturday Night in Las Vegas. STONED. Ripped. Twisted.

Good People.

Hunter S. Thompson wrote that. He was drinking heavily & for long with his friend Oscar at the Polo Lounge in Beverly Hills, one Friday afternoon back in ’71, when a uniformed dwarf cautiously approached their table with a pink telephone on a tray.

“This must be the call you’ve been waiting for this whole time.” said the Dwark.

Indeed. I gobbled the story down like a trunk-load of drugs. Better than drugs! Like a trunk-load of gonzoi doparhythm.

Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas — and Hunter himself — taught me how I alone happen to know precisely what the fuck I am doing. He made me want to bet smartly on me.

Dared me to bet my own life, even.

The call was from Sports Illustrated. That’s verifiably true. They hired Thompson to write a 250-word caption blurb about the Fabulous Mint 4oo motorcycle race in Las Vegas. They would leave at once. And expenses — rented hot-rod, sound-proof sweet, VIP parking — be damned.

The sporting editors also coughed up $300 cash which Doctor & Attorney famously spent on the following:

Two bags of grass. 75 pellets of mescaline. 5 sheets of high-power blotter acid…

I don’t have a copy of the Good Book with me. Am I getting this right? There was a salt shaker half-filled with cocaine, I recall. Plus a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers & laughers. And also a quart of rum. A quart of tequila. A pint of raw ether and a case of Budweiser…

They blew out of LA at dawn, purports the story, and were somewhere around Barstow when the drugs began to take hold. Then they drove around Vegas until their stash was gone. Wrote a couple Rolling Stone articles about it. Random House bought and published the articles as a book.

And that’s the story about how Hunter S. Thompson hit the Big Time — back when any jerk with a typewriter & a headfull of mescaline could do it that way.

But it doesn’t explain why I cried so when I saw the Good Doc’s obituary. I mean I wept wildly. There’s one quality in writers I admire above all; words that bring good folks together as friends.

And Hunter above ’em all was — is, truly — like a cosmically old Friend to me. One I’d long hoped to meet.

You know why I cried? Because I never got a chance to thank my old friend. To say:

I’m proud to call you my Hero.

Oh & yo Doc, one more thing — you are a pansy-eyed Amature Twerp and if you shot yourself — for real –well then I say you eat douches.

Dig this: A 1971 letter — published in 2000, 15 years after I first read Vegas — from Hunter to his Random House editor, Jim Silberman, in response to Jim’s peculiarly keen observation:

What depresses me is your statement that it was “absolutely clear” to you that Raoul Duke & his attorney “were not on drugs [in Las Vegas].” Because my conception of that piece was to write a thing that would tell what it was like to do a magazine assignment with a head full of weird drugs. I didn’t really make up anything — but I did, at times, bring situations & feelings I remember from other scenes to the reality at hand. I might even claim, for that matter, that this was done by consciously tripping the fabled “LSD recall and/or Flashback Mechanism.

Um.

So…the trunk of the Great Red Shark actually didn’t look like a mobile police narcotics lab?

So Hunter Thompson drove sober.

LOSER!

His acid-crazed attorney didn’t want to be electrocuted to death in the bath when the White Rabbit peaked?

Nah — the Samoan just threw a little hissy-fit when he lost his rubber ducky under the tub.

Thompson’s mind didn’t recoil in horror then at the sight of his body parking the Shark — floor-mats soaked in ether — on the sidewalk in front of Circus Circus?

Well. Yes he did park on the sidewalk. But it was an emergency; his attorney spotted an old lady with no one to help her cross the street!

Why not? By his own admission every word in the book was bogus. A fraud on its face. But he was on someone else’s corporate tab. So of course it had to be done.
All this begs the Question: did he — or did he not — drag that fence 30 feet across the Las Vegas Airport runway so his Attorney wouldn’t miss his flight?

Either way I tell you what Buster — don’t FUCK with the Drug Coma on Main Street!

That one is sacred. Let me have my jollies. Don’t mess with a man’s Gonzo Fantasy.

We’re all friends here :)

At the age of 15 I believed every word written in Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas. Down to the last drop of human adrenalcreme!

Why?

Children are capable, of course, of literary belief, when the storymaker’s art is good enough to produce it. That state of mind has been called the “willing suspension of disbelief.” But this does not seem to me to be a good description of what happens. What really happens is the storymaker proves a successful “subcreator.” He makes a Secondary World which your mind can enter. Inside it, what he relates is “true;” it accords with the laws of that world. You therefore believe it while you are, as it were, inside.

JRR Tolkien

Weird: 15 years after I first read Vegas — and a half decade since it’s been revealed fictional — I don’t believe any less in the truth twoard which Hunter strove. If anything…way more.
I also believe Gandalf smote that Balrog on the snowy mountain and survived. Remember when they found Gandalf with Treebeard? I felt joy. Why? Gandalf is my friend. Must be, since I think it totally rocks, still, the way he didn’t die.

And what of DR. HST? Credit Where Due:

Hunter S. Thompson was a Fantasy man. Surely as Gandalf rode Shadofax fast the Good Doctor wrote some curiously potent fantasy. Most remarkable were his repeated, admirable attempts — sheriff’s race; Rock & Roll vote; unique friendship with and all powerful early endorsement of President Carter — to spike the punch-bowl of Reality.

He duped me in the best possible way. I never doubted a word he wrote. Yet he made it all up. Or did he? Honestly — why would he leave drug infested LA for an all-expense paid Vegas weekend without a trunk full of goodies?

Some suggest Hunter’s work is G-Rated fiction; a Secondary World subcreated from his own, far more depraved Reality…

Did he sample human adrenalcreme? I sure don’t know — and I never will. I’ll wonder though. But always get my best Hoot when I don’t know.

But this is a different subject, & there’s no point in trying to come to grips with it here. What I’m talking about, in essense, is the mechanical Reality of Gonzo Journalism…or Total Subjectivity, as opposed to the bogus demands of Objectivity.
>>HST re: Vegas 1971

To help grasp the Gonzo concept I offer the most succinct yet thorough description Hunter wrote on his self-invented style:

You Cannot Always Find Two “Reliable Sources” to Verify What You Know is True. And that is where I parted company with those bastards a long time ago..

I propose a hybrid genre; one I’ve barely touched on here. What I’m into in essense is Gonzo Fantasy. A kind of neuromolecular Make-Believe; an alternate to the bogus-load o’ bull we’re duped to believe is Reality.

Keep it unreal!

Connecticut Jerkoffs go to Polls; Brighten America’s day.

‘Hey Mike E’ someone asked me on the street, ‘What’ve you been Up To?’

‘Same old you know,’ I replied cheerfully, ‘Jerkin off & shootin up & bitchin about the Government.’

It don’t keep me Busy but it keeps me unemployed.

Yep. Unemployed. You know some highly influential Americans have been unemployed. Like Joe Lieberman.

Here in Vermont we pray for God to flick the state of New Hampshire off the face of the Earth like a booger.

We think barely more highly of Connecticut. Too pretentious to be Massholes. Too pansy-ass to live in Brooklyn. Home to America’s most vocally self-described Centrist senator; the way Joe Liberman yelped & squaked at Howard Dean during the run-up to NH & Iowa in ’04 reminded me of a football-sized canine-like creature who insatitably begs to get Kicked.

Joe Lieberman is a lot like a drop-kick dog who you were oddly elated to learn got finally Punted through a toilet hoop.

Denied his unassailable slot on the Democrat ticket, Joe threatens to run as an Independent. Which would be like a dog who’s been drop-kicked through a hoop now requesting to be tied with string to a teather-ball pole. Tempting. But for what? Such dogs are drop-kicked out of loathing. Not because it’s Fun. You want them to learn a Lesson. To not so mercilessly annoy. But when they come back for more you see they’ll never Act Right.

Poor Joe.

I say I’m pleased as a bubbling crack pipe to learn Liberman was humiliated at the polls. I think what people in Connecticut did is Awesome. I think maybe you guys are a little better than the Massholes.

But I don’t want to see it again in November any more than I want to see any Connecticut gweedos in Vermont on Vacation again. Ever. None of Yooz.

If Liberman continues with his Independent-bid lunacy I say we send Ralph Nader around with a ice cold whoop ass can to open in his dumb-lookin face.

Maybe I hope he does run as an Independent. I bet money he scores single-digit returns. I pay 2 to 1 if he breaks 11%. I’ll take 2 to 1 that he tallies under 5.

All it is this: A candidate who represented the electorate’s will snuck into contention & won. Lamant beat a system rigged against him; proved verifiably to us all that the system can be beat. For participants it was a Hoot. Imagine that. When was the last time you walked out from the Voting Booth & said hot damnsoCOOL!

The Guardian says Power to the People. I say Right On.

People were getting involved in a new kind of politics: one that included them. Astonishingly, as Lamont’s candidacy grew, so did the voter rolls; over 30,000 people registered as new Democrats so they could vote in the party primary. Lamont’s message of change, combined with the rising tide of this new people-powered politics, took Lieberman’s strengths – incumbency, endorsements, and money – and turned them against him.”

My only regret is I bet no money on Lamont. Plus he hasn’t a blithery clue how to bring about Peace.

I do. What can I say? I’m spectacularly fucking brilliant.

Peace is a Hot Ticket at the polls. Everybody wants some. Produce candidates who verifiably & proactively favor Peace. Ask them:

Will you support the involuntary induction into a National Service of every American between 18-25? Inductees shall be specially trained in misery eradication; at completion of basic training will transport among cohorts to a place in the world where help is needed. It will be a World Work Party. The Build a Block Party will put the United Stated back on the Rock & Roll map. It’ll be expensive. But the 1 wealthiest % of Americans can afford it; it’ll be by & large their treat.

Yeah — and let’s have the Boot[ie] Camp in New Orleans.

Win the battle for Hearts & Minds & America wins the Terror War. Had our Build a Block Party rolled into Iraq even a year ago — who knows? Those kids surely by now would have the mind & heart of America, at very least, won.

I propose a technique for America’s people to make peace with ourselves. Show Planet Earth we care. And turn the youth loose in a world they otherwise may never see.

Plus pick up chicks & get drunk in weird places. Better still — they’re paid fair wages to do it.

They’ll jump at the chance. If not we Draft the bastages. For their own good — they’ll see

But most Kids want to. According to a 2002 circle.org poll: 81% favor a year of national or community service to earn money toward college or advanced training; 61% would favor a new draft that gives people a choice between civilian or military service.

That’s 2 of 3 young Americans who wanna peel around planet Earth to make things better for everyone.

Hadn’t we oughta help ’em?